Surprise!

Almost fainting, she literally shook the bed this time with the power of her screaming orgasm.

After turning her onto her stomach, Harry took the oil and started rubbed her buttocks, inching his way down her crack to stroke her anus, trying to put his finger in it.

Snapping to attention, she yelled, "No, not that."

Leaning over, he looked her directly in the eyes. "You said he could have anything he wanted, didn't you?"

"Oh God, yes, I did. But not that."

"Okay," he said with a seemingly casual shrug. He rose and went into the bathroom.

After a few minutes, Sarah rolled over and sat up. Wearing a perplexed expression, she looked upset and it is obvious that she wanted Harry to come back so she could satisfy him.

Eventually, he came back, smiled at her, and began putting on his clothes.

"What are you doing?" Sarah asked, looking blown away.

"I'm getting dressed."

"Don't you want to cum, Harry? You've certainly given me enough orgasms," she said, smiling bewitching. "I feel I owe you one more."

"Don't worry your head about it, Sarah. Why don't you get dressed, go home, and wait for your husband?" Dismissing her, he turned and finished dressing, sitting down to put on his socks.

"What's the matter with you? What did I do wrong?" she asked plaintively.

He shrugged, grabbed his shoes, and began to slip them on his feet.

"Come on, Harry," she pleaded. "Talk to me." I can't believe her. Harry picked up her clothing and took it to her. When she refused to take it, he threw it on the bed, just higher than the large cum stain.

"Look, babe, I didn't come asking for this, you know. You came on to me." Mimicking her high-pitched voice, he whined, "I'm so lonely. My husband is a limp dick."

That bitch. That dirty bitch. I glance at Harry to see him smirking. I want to stand up and kick the shit out of this smiling bastard but the video pulls me back into it and I’m lost again staring at my wife rutting with this bastard.

"I did not say that, Harry, and yoiu know it."

Returning to his normal voice, Harry said, "If you want to treat me like you must treat your husband, Baby, you've got another thing coming. I don't just do missionary." Once again, he turned away from her. Behind him,

Sarah whined, "I don't know what you mean."

He smiled to himself, but quickly wiped it off his face before he turned back to her. "It's all about variety, sweetheart. Variety is the name of the game. I don't like to be bored."

That got her angry. "Bored? You're bored with me?"

"Yeah," he said and walked away from her.

"Get dressed. You're going to have to leave. I need a real woman in here, you know?"

She was obviously shocked and unsure of herself. Was he questioning her femininity? Why didn't she just get dressed and get out of there?

Instead, she called out to him. "Are you telling me that I'm so unfeminine that you're going to have to find another woman to satisfy your need for variety?"

Facing her, his smile was so disingenuous I can't believe she didn't know what he was doing.

"What the hell is wrong with that? I didn't say you weren't feminine—I just need more." He turned his back on her once again.

"Anal sex is what you're talking about."

Even though he was smiling, he stated angrily, "You got that straight, lady."

"I've never done that. It's dirty and it would hurt. I know it would hurt."

He swung around. "Ah, the voice of experience."

"Will you stop being nasty," she pleaded. "Just for a few minutes?"

He stared at her for a moment before his face softened. "Sure. It's not your fault. You're a housewife, a mother for God's sake. Why am I taking it out on you?"

So she was a mother. The girl.

"Talk to me, will you? Tell me about it. You've obviously done it with other women. It has always been a fear of mine. Just talk to me. I'm not unreasonable."

"Okay, then, I will—as well as I can. Have I done it before? Yes, many times. Some of the women I've been with love it. Some say it hurts for a little while, but not bad and then the pain goes away. I have to admit," he said, smiling at her, "I've never been on the receiving end."

"All women don't think it hurts?"

"If they do, they like the pain. From what I understand, it's just the same as having their nipples pulled. Is that pain?"

"Well, yes, but I like that. It's just a little pain and it makes the pleasure more intense."

"Exactly!" She looked at him for a long moment. "Will you stop and pull out if it hurts too much?"

"As long as you're fair and just give it a chance."

Harry began to undress as she bites her lip, obviously unsure. But then, as that huge member came again into view as he droped his pants and shorts, she said, "Okay, Harry. We'll try it."

I don't know how many times I've tried to have anal sex with my wife, but she'd never even consider it and my penis is much smaller than Harry's. I glance at him. Not limp goddamnit. Just smaller. It really pisses me off!

On the tape Harry sat on the bed beside her and removed his shoes and socks, and he began to talk soothingly to Sarah, "okay, babe, turn over and just relax. The first thing we have to do is prepare you. Your fear probably comes from your asshole husband trying it without preparing you."

"I've never let him try," she mumbles into the bed sheet.

"Now just relax," he said as he coated his hand in oil. He rubbed the oil into her buttocks and into her crack. At first, she tensed when he stoked her anus, but you could see her visibly relax.

I never would have believed it, if I weren't seeing it for myself.

He inserted his index finger and she tensed, but soon relaxed again.

After a moment, he asked, "Does it hurt, baby?"

"No, not yet," she mumbled. He worked his finger in and out for a long time, occasionally adding more oil.

Once her anus loosened around his finger, he inserted another finger, adding more oil, working his fingers in and out, in and out.

"Are you okay, sugar?"

"Uh huh," she muttered.

It wasn't long before he had three fingers in her. From the night table, he pulled a long, two-inch wide dildo. He oiled it up, removed his fingers, and replaced them with the dildo, sliding it in and out, again and again.

"Okay, baby?"

"Oh, yeah. That feels okay."

"Good." Removing that dildo, he pulled out a vibrating dildo, oiled it liberally, and inserted it. This dildo had to have been three inches wide and eight inches long—just as long as he was, but not as wide. She tensed for a moment as he rotated it inside her, but eventually relaxed and he began plunging the instrument into her.

My penis is painfully hard, but I don't want to embarrass myself, so I resist touching it.

I hear her groan with each plunge and wonder if he's hurting her?

"How does that feel, baby?"

"I feel the . . . vibrations . . . all over. In . . . my . . . clitoris. Everywhere."

With that drawn out statement, I realize I'm totally off base. Those weren't groans of pain. They were groans of ecstasy. She was getting off on this.

"Oh yeah," she moaned into a pillow, which she'd pulled down to bury her face in.

"Oh yeah." "Oh yeah?" Harry chuckled.

"It's so all-encompassing," she said.

"I know, baby, I know." Increasing the vibrating speed of the dildo, he reached under her and started rubbing her clitoris.

"Oh, shit," she groaned, bucking and shuddering as another orgasm hit her, quickly followed by another—much to my disbelief.

With her lying on the bed like a wet dishrag, he lowered the speed of the dildo and left it in her while he oiled his monstrous penis.

The light from the bedside lamp reflected off of it, making it glisten evilly. It reflected off her, making her glisten 'slut'.

As he removed the vibrator, she didn't move or say a word, causing me to wonder if she'd passed out. Her anus gaped emptily, but not for long.

Harry pulled her legs further apart and placed the other pillow from the head of the bed under her pelvis, raising her buttocks. Her ass was now elevated, gaping, and waiting to be filled. Harry retrieved a butterfly vibrator from the night table and strapped it onto her so it touched her clitoris. He turned it on and Sarah began humping her hips.

Slowly, he entered her ass. She moaned, but I can't tell if it's from pain or pleasure, but it tells me she was definitely awake and aware. She groaned and continued humping against the butterfly as the head of his penis passed her sphincter.

Waiting for her to adjust to his girth, Harry was both gentle and patient.

He slid in another inch and waited, then another inch and waited, until he was completely buried in her ass—all eight inches—or whatever the hell he measured. Adding more oil every so often, he began leisurely pumping.

"How are you doing, baby?" he asked her through gritted teeth.

"I don't . . . know . . . Harry. It hurts . . . kinda . . . like the nip . . . ples . . . but . . . more and . . . it . . . feels won . . . der . . . ful too. I . . . had no . . . idea."

It might've taken her a long time to get it out, but he clearly understood—and so did I.

He pounded her asshole, using the same technique he used while fucking her pussy, just leaving the head inside her as he pull out, and then slamming all the way back in.

Into the pillow, Sarah moaned, "So . . . full."

Within minutes, the butterfly must have done its job, because she began coming over and over again. She pushed back against his invading member with enough force to rock him backward slightly as she shuddered and shook.

His face red and grimacing, it is easy to see Harry's climax was fast approaching. I see his sack clench and his buttocks tighten. He plunged one last time and came into her rectum, again and again.

When it was over, they lay there on the bed, panting and sweating. Finally, he moved off her and collapsed beside her.

She turned to him and said, "Turn the damn butterfly off, please."

Reaching over, he turned it off and she slumped in relief. "THE END," flashes on the screen briefly before the screen turns to snow.

I sit there in stunned silence for a moment before I finally ask, "How many women have you done this to? Anal? The videotape?"

"Dozens," he says. "They love it. They just don't know it."

Standing, I surreptitiously turn off the pen-cam, wondering if I can quickly snatch the tape and make a run for it. It doesn't seem likely.

I ask him, “did you ever do Sarah again?”

“No,” he admitted. I called her a couple of times, when I was going to be in town, and she always said no thanks, and that was that. But, then, I see her here. Man, she’s the hottest thing I’ve ever had. I’ve got to have her, just one more time.”

Harry's phone rings, startling both of us. He crosses and answers it. He listens and then a huge smile spreads across his face. "Hey, baby. How are you?" He pauses. "Oh, no, I know I must have embarrassed you. I knew you wouldn't treat me that way if you didn't have people with you."

He listens again, then says, "Yeah, sure, I'd like that. What? A half-hour? Yeah, I just need to get undressed."

Laughing, he hangs up and looks at me. "Guess who?"

How am I going to stop this? How could she do this to me? Again, I remind myself. If I get out of here, and intercept her, then maybe . . .

Getting serious, he says, "You'd better get the hell out of here, Brad. It would be embarrassing if you were here when she arrives—bring a friend and all."

Moving toward the door, I say, "Yeah, you're right. Thanks for the entertainment."

"A pleasure," he says.

I'm about to leave the room headed for the door when he's interrupted by a light knock on the door. Delaying my exit, I go back to the sofa and sit.

There is a louder knock. "Yeah?" he calls nervously as he crosses to the door. "Who is it?"

There is a mumbled response, which I can't make out.

"Wait just a second, babe?"

Rushing to me, he says, "Get in that closet, man, and don't you come out of there for hell or high water.” He pushes me into the closet. I turn my head and see his smiling face, “I'm going to treat you to the greatest show on earth."

He closes the door on me. Through the slats on the door, I can see most of the living room, some of the bedroom, and the bed. I'm horrified that I might actually have to watch my wife get fucked by this animal, but I switch on the pen-cam, hoping the VCR didn't shut off before. I watch Harry rush to the door and open it.

Sarah, looking as beautiful as ever, enters pulling off a pair of gloves. She is still wearing the same slacks and blouse we’d had lunch in, and she’d gone shopping in. Why is she wearing gloves? It's not cold out.

"Couldn't wait, huh, sweetheart?" Harry preens.

Sarah walks to the living and sits on the couch where I can only see the back of her head.

Harry sits down beside her, but I can see his face because he's looking at her. Leaning over, he tries to kiss her, but she turns head away. Shocked, he sits back and she turns back to him.

"You are a most embarrassing problem, Harry."

Having thought she was going to be a pushover, he's obviously stunned that things don't seem to be working out the way he thought they would.

"I want the tape you have of us, Harry. I want it and every copy you made. No one's ever going to see that tape ever again."

"Hey, baby, what's gotten into you? What tape?"

"You know what tape. The tape of us fucking in that dirty little hotel room. I suppose you had a camera hidden somewhere in that squalid hole in the wall. It's humiliating and degrading and I want it."

Smiling, he says, "Honey! Baby! I wouldn't do something like that. You've got me all wrong. Maybe you've confused me with one of your other lovers."

She reaches over and slaps him. Hard.

Instinctively, I touch my own cheek as if she'd hit me.

Looking frightened, Harry pulls back even further and I see that my wife is holding a smaller derringer in her hand, aiming it right at his midriff.

Where the hell did she get that damn thing?

"In case you didn't noticed, I took off my gloves when I came in, after buzzing you doorbell. I haven't touched anything except your face and this weapon. I can wipe off your face after I shoot your conniving ass. I think I'd enjoy that. And since no one knows I'm here, I can pretty much leave your body for the maid to find. I'd say you have no chance of being remembered, much less being revenged. Now, give me the tapes, Harry."

Harry slowly rises and moves to the VCR. He removes the tape and turns to her. "It ain't

rewound." She laughs. "I don't care about that. I only care who's seen it. Where are the copies?"

Handing her the tape, he says, "There are no copies. I never got around to making more."

"You're lying."

"I'm not," he says cringing. "I should have taken the time to copy it, but I didn't."

"You slimy bastard. You'd better not be lying to me, Harry."

Looking her up and down, he says, "You wouldn't really shoot me, would you?"

"Try me."

From what I can tell, she really means what she says.

She stands and walks to the door, keeping the small weapon trained on Harry. She pulls her right glove from her pocket and transferring the weapon to her left hand, she uses the glove to open the door.

Harry asks, "You sure you don't want a goodbye fuck?"

Turning back to him, she gives him the coldest look I've ever seen. "Fuck off." Then she opens the door and leaves, slamming the door shut behind her.

Choking with fright, Harry runs over and jerks open the closet door.

"Do you believe that?" I don't believe any of it.

I ask, "you do have more copies of the tape, don't you?"

"No, dammit. I always meant to make another copy, but I never got around to it. She's one lucky bitch. If you hadn't see all of this, you'd never have believed it, would you?"

"No, I'm not sure I do even though I did see it."

I'm relieved he doesn't have a copy. Only I have one—I hope—and no one knows about it.

Harry crosses to the bar and pours himself a stiff drink. "Want one?"

"No," I tell him. "I'd better get going. Lynn will be back soon."

"Yeah," he mutters, flopping down onto the sofa.

I cross to the door and let myself out. What do I do now? How did this turn of events happen and upset Harry’s applecart. Where did Sarah go? I’d better find her.

PART FIVE

At the hotel, I find Sarah sitting on the couch in out room. The liquor cabinet's seal has been broken and she is drinking what looks like her second straight vodka.

When I enter the room, she rises and runs into my arms. Burying her face in my shoulder, she shudders—a much different shudder than the orgasmic ones I'd just witnessed on that videotape.

Holding her away from me at arm's length, I ask, "What's wrong Sarah?"

Tears streaming down her face, she looks like she's going to unload all her sins, but she doesn't. She sniffs and wipes her tearstained face with the back of her hand. I give her my handkerchief and she smiles, using it to wipe her face. Needing to catch up to her, I walk over to the bar and fix myself a straight bourbon.

Sarah sniffs one last time and says, "I just had a bad day at the conference and then I came home and you weren't here. I just wanted you to hold me." She comes into my arms again and I have to switch my bourbon to the other hands to keep it from spilling.

I almost confront her with what I know and the lies, but then I realize I better not. I'm not even sure if the pen-cam worked and I'd prefer to have proof when I confront her. So instead, I comfort her.

"It's all right, honey, I'm here now." Finally pulling away, she crosses back to the couch, picks up her vodka, and faces me.

"Will you put some ice and tonic in this for me?"

Walking to her and accepting her glass, thinking some ice on this situation is exactly what it needs, I carefully examine her face for any signs of an impending confession, but I don't see any. There's no guilt and no sorrow. I take her glass over to the small kitchenette area and add ice and tonic to the vodka already in her glass. I wonder where she's put the derringer. After placing ice cubes into her glass, I carry the refreshed drink to my love—the bitch!

"Thank you," she says, accepting the drink.

I sit on a chair across from her where I can look into her eyes and gaze at her lying-by- omission face. Having been married to the woman for seven years, I never suspected she could put up such a front. I decide I won't confront her until we are home. That'll give me time to check the tape I made and make sure it's the real goods. I've never used the device at such a range before—seven blocks—and have no idea if it worked. In addition, I need to rethink my own psyche. Why did I get an errection watching my wife fuck that monster?

"So what upset you, Sarah?"

Even though she'd had time to think about it, she still hesitates. "Oh, it was nothing. Somebody just hurt my feelings."

"Anyone I know?"

"No, just some man I ran into, you wouldn't know him."

Don't I?

Polishing off her drink, she looks up at me with her wet eyes.

"Hungry?"

"Sure," I say, even though food is the last thing on mind. "I can eat."

She puts her empty glass on the coffee table, stands, and heads for the bathroom.

"Finish your drink while I repair my make up and then we'll go eat."

She goes into the bathroom and I smile humorlessly at the thought that there are no microphones in the one.

* * *

As far as I could tell, he rest of our time in New York went well. On Tuesday, while Sarah and Lynn were in their meetings, I packed the raw videotape very carefully in my bag of tricks, since Sarah never bothered with my toys—as she calls them. Fortunately, I got some images, but it needed editing.